


Reining Him In

by Minxie, qafmaniac



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Gift Fic, KINK: D/s, KINK: Spanking, M/M, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/qafmaniac/pseuds/qafmaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touring is hard on his boy. It's past time for Brian to rein Tommy in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reining Him In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thraceadams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thraceadams/gifts).



> **Prereader:** @leela_cat ♥  
>  **Disclaimer:** RPS of the highest order. In other words, it's just my imagination kicking into overdrive because I like the way these two look together. Unless, of course, they want to tweet some pics and prove me right.  
>  **AN:** For @ThraceAdams in exchange for a donation to keep @qafmaniac's ~~porny~~ pretty little things alive. Hope this hits what you want, darling! Thank you for your help!! ♥ I'm also using this to fill the spanking/paddling square on my Kink Bingo card. Yes, yes… I'm double dipping. This should not be a surprise for anyone. :-P

[](http://s206.photobucket.com/user/the_minx_17/media/Reininghimin_minxie_zps5c542f7d.png.html)  


Watching Tommy pour himself another three fingers of Jameson, Brian frowns and shakes his head. His boy is tumbling down the rabbit hole. It's what always happens when they have a string of gigs running back-to-back and home becomes a couple of buses and a never-ending list of hotel rooms.

"Tonight," he murmurs, more for himself than anyone else. Tonight, when they've retreated to their hotel room and have a solid door between them and the outside world, he's taking his boy down. Pushing until all the chaotic noise in Tommy's head settles into an old, bluesy sound and his body relaxes into something malleable, something that Brian can bend and bind to his will.

If they were at home, Brian would do it nice and slow. Combining whispered words like _so pretty for me_ and _my perfect little slut_ and _just give it over, boy_ with gentle touches, hands stroking over Tommy's neck and shoulders, fondling his ass and groin, until Tommy's settles, quiet and mellow and content. But, he reminds himself, if they were at home, Tommy wouldn't be spiraling, overwhelmed with the crowds and the schedule to the point that he can't make a concrete decision about what color underwear to put on much less figure out what is a good life choice. 

Like knowing when too much Jameson is just too much goddamn Jameson.

Stepping into Tommy's space, Brain growls, "Put it down, Tommy Joe." 

Not _Tommy_ or _boy_ or _babe_. But _Tommy Joe_. A hint about just how _not_ fucking pleased Brian is. 

Tommy jerks back and stares at Brian, stubbornness flashing in his whiskey-colored eyes. "If I don't?"

"That really what you wanna do right now, boy?" Brian asks, his voice going hard enough to brook no arguments. "Put it down, and then –" Brian checks his watch "– in less than an hour, I'm going to be putting you down, hard and fast."

He's going to strip Tommy bare and pull Tommy over his knees and then, his with hand raining down all over Tommy's ass, he's going to rewire Tommy's brain into something a whole lot less self-destructive.

The boy won't sit comfortably for _days_.

And Brian knows that tomorrow, when the chaos and clutter isn't shaking Tommy's core, Tommy will appreciate the fact that Brian stepped up and once again gave him what he needed, even if it's not exactly what he wanted. Brian knows it because Tommy deals in facts, not in insinuation or innuendo. And on tour, when fans and strangers surround them every waking minute of every single day, Brian relies on the promise of his words instead the weight of his hands.

It's past time for an object lesson.

Slowly, slow enough for Brian to add another three strokes to Tommy's count, Tommy sets the short tumbler of Jameson on the side table. "Happy?"

"Nowhere near it," Brian replies.

Beneath the flat veneer of stubbornness, a crazy mash-up of hope and understanding and _need_ sparkles in Tommy's eyes. 

"Yeah," Brian says, softening his voice, letting the deep growl swirl around Tommy. He adds to his tone of voice by dragging a hand down Tommy's back, his fingers curling tight in Tommy's t-shirt. "There's my boy."

"It's just…" Tommy flaps a hand around, encompassing the room in his half-made comment. 

"I know," Brian says. "We're always on, no time to ourselves. No time to make our music, full of our sounds and experiences."

Tommy visibly deflates, the straight set of his shoulders falling into a rolled slouch, the frown that mars his face slipping into a slight quirk of lips. "Yeah, that."

"It's cool, babe. I get it." Brian steps in closer, presses the front of his body tight against Tommy's back. "I got caught up in all of the touring nonsense too. Should've taken you down four nights ago, when we had that hotel room outside of Philly."

He should have realized then that having three nights of gigs and bus travel was going to be too much given the amount of time they'd already been on the road. Except Tommy wasn't spiraling then, and Brian knows all too well that there's a fine line when dealing with Tommy Joe. Strike too soon and nothing is achieved. Wait too long and it takes days to pull Tommy's head out of his ass.

Tommy shakes his head. "We didn't have time…"

"There's always time," Brian says, interrupting. He could have, fucking a-well should have done something to balance things out. "And it's on me that I didn't make it a priority."

"I'm not going to win this one, am I?" Tommy looks at Brian through a fall of bleached hair. "It's just that in Philly we had that night and then it was back on the road early the next morning. And now we have tomorrow off and the beach right outside and… and we have _tomorrow off_."

Brian snorts softly. "That your way of asking for something, pretty boy?"

A light blush stains the sharp edge of Tommy's jaw and down his neck. "Um, no?"

"Liar," Brian murmurs. 

Tommy shrugs. "Maybe?"

"Tonight I'm taking you down," Brian says. Nothing is going to change that, not even Tommy flashing his doe-eyes and begging with the prettiest of words. "Depending on your state of mind… well, we'll just wait 'til morning to see what tomorrow brings."

Brian presses his hand against Tommy's back. "Go say good night to Adam, boy. And tell him I said no wake up call."

"Just me?"

"You want me to tell him we're going upstairs so I can use hand-to-ass to adjust your attitude?" Brian smirks. "'Cause if I go over there, that's exactly what I'll be saying."

"No," Tommy replies, loud enough to garner attention. "That's… I mean…"

Brian chuckles, low and deep. "Go, boy. You've got five minutes to give our goodbyes. I'll be waiting in the hall."

"Yes, sir," Tommy says, stepping away from Brian. "I'll be there in five."

"You will or I'll be adding a stroke for every minute you're not."

Tommy's eyes widen, and his blush darkens to a vivid red.

"I see you understand," Brian says, happy that Tommy seems to realize that now is not the time for indulging in long-winded goodnights. Shooing Tommy off with a look, he says, "Countdown starts now."

Watching Tommy make his way to Adam's side, Brian starts turning over ideas for tomorrow. Ideas that Tommy having a throbbing, red ass won't hinder. Ideas like tying his boy up. Ass high and face down, open and available for whatever happens to come up.

Then Tommy steps through the crowded doorway and into the hall, eyes blown wide with hungry anticipation, and Brian thinks it's a good thing he thought ahead and packed the lengths of black rope.

A damn good thing, indeed.

*


End file.
